


pogonotrophy

by descartes



Series: a musical comedy without the music [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Jeeves and Wooster AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/descartes/pseuds/descartes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>being an extract from the personal narratives of mr. david archuleta, and his gentleman's personal gentleman, cook</p>
            </blockquote>





	pogonotrophy

"Cook," said David on a crisp Tuesday morning, "I do know your opinions on the subject of facial hair, I hope?"

The reply came to him from the open wardrobe. Cook's reply, David meant, not the wardrobe, because Cook was rummaging around the interior, doing some manner of unfathomable valeting. "I should think so, sir."

"Well," David replied, but left the syllable dangling, instead continued pulling at his shirtsleeves with a distracted air.

Cook floated over, u. v. apparently completed, and neatly disposed of David's restive plucking. "Please refrain from disturbing the lines of your shirt, sir," he said, and his left eyebrow lifted minutely, and seemed to add, 'I woke up at an ungodly hour to iron this, Archuleta. Pray do not muck with it!' and so David subsided and left himself up to his valet.

As in all things, really. David had long since figured out, ever since Cook had rapped sharply on the doors of No. 2 Murray Mansions and presented himself for the inspection of the young master, that life was on the whole so much better if placed in Cook's marvelous hands.

"What I meant to say was, Cook," David said, having been broken from his reverie by Cook holding up a specimen of a tie for his inspection, and agreeing to it. "I was thinking."

"Yes, sir?"

David tilted his chin up to allow the tie access around his neck, and glimpsed himself in the mirror over Cook's shoulder. "Facial hair!"

Cook's expression remained steady as he concentrated on neckwear navigation. "Indeed, sir?"

"I was thinking the other day, I mean, you know, after my Aunt Paula had me 'round for tea," David said, words very nearly piling up one over each other in his excitement, "that I could grow a mustache. Or a beard of some sort. A confidence builder, if you will."

"How so, sir?"

"It would force Aunt Paula to stop pinching my cheeks in greeting, for one" David said with a slight shiver. "She likes to fuss, and introduce me to girls -- all perfectly nice, but they're strangers to me -- and she's always hinting about moonlit walks and beautiful souls intertwining." He heaved a gusty sigh in the key of Long-Suffering Niece, but brightened again; his manner was not predisposed to fall into dark contemplations for so long. "Anyway, I got the idea from your beard, Cook. Is it like your improving puzzle-books and annual golf holiday?"

"Sir?"

"You know, like that chap in the Scriptures, with the lion's head? Or was that Jonah?"

"I believe you mean Samson, sir, with the locks that contained the source of his strength."

"That's the one!" David exclaimed, and beamed up at Cook. "Exactly what I meant, Cook. You're the cleverest person I know, and none of the other chaps have got valets half as clever as you when pulling me out of the soup, and none of them have beards, not a single whisker."

Cook cleared his throat. It sounded like the rumble of an Aston Martin on some distant mountaintop.

"Yes, Cook?"

"If I may be so bold, sir, as to forward a suggestion?" Cook asked.

"Be as bold as you need to be," David declared with a cheerful equanimity; he could see from the mirror that the tie, which was taking on its regulation shape under Cook's guidance, would impress on one and sundry his ability as a well-dressed gentleman.

Cook's fingers danced neatly over and under David's collar, only the slightest pressure and unwrinkled expanse of cloth evidence of their fastidious path. Sometimes David would feel Cook's knuckles brushing the underside of his jaw, but it wasn't Cook's fault; David liked to move when he talked. The valets he had before Cook always eyed him if he dared so much as breathe during the proceedings, but Cook simply moved with him, and never censured him even once.

Cook said, gravely, hands stirring the warm air around David's neck, "I do not think a beard will flatter you, sir."

"Why not? It's very dashing on you, I must say. No harm in giving it a try on the Archuleta facade, what?"

"A beard," Cook replied, "would not benefit your jaw." Finished with David's tie, he stepped back and behind, holding up the suit jacket for David to slip on.

His eyes met David's briefly in the mirror when he added, "A beard would also hide your smile, sir."

David let the the fabric embrace him, objecting with a "But it would stop all the unpleasant auntish pinching!" but the curve of his lips that remained long after he'd been supplied with his hat and cane, and legged it to his club, into the exuberant hooting of his friends, who swarmed around him to celebrate what they believed to be his engagement to some bright young thing, belied his retort.


End file.
